I’ll never forget the drive down to that tucked-away spot near Bodmin Moor – we’d piled into the car in the pouring rain, sat-nav insisting we were nearly there, only for me to miss the turning and end up splashing through a ford that wasn’t on the map. Heart in my mouth, we made it across without drowning the engine, and suddenly the hedges opened up to this lush, hidden valley. As we pulled up, I was buzzing with that proper holiday anticipation – you know, imagining cosy evenings ahead while the real world faded away. First impressions? Spot on. It’s a beautifully refurbished farmhouse nestled in its own 90-acre regenerative farm valley, right on the edge of the moor, complete with a massive garden, woodburning stoves, and even a wood-fired hot tub. Perfect for our group of eleven (plus the dog, who was already claiming the rug).

We’d come for the walks, obviously – Cornwall’s Bodmin Moor is walker’s heaven, all rolling pastures and ancient tracks begging to be explored. Day one dawned bright and crisp, so we laced up and headed out straight from the door, no car needed. A gentle ramble along the valley paths took us through 20 acres of temperate rainforest – misty, fern-choked magic that felt like stepping into a Tolkien book. The air was alive with birdsong, and we spotted ponies grazing on the moor’s edge. Lunch was pasties from the local farm shop (grabbed on the way down), eaten on a sun-warmed rock with views stretching for miles. Bliss.

But this is Britain, innit? By day two, the weather flipped like a moody teenager. Grey skies rolled in, wind whipping up, and what was meant to be a longer hike across the moor turned into a soggy scramble. We’d planned to push on to St Neot, just 4.5 miles away, for its famous church and stained glass, but the rain lashed so hard we could barely see our hands. Laughing (mostly), we cut it short, heads down against the gale, slipping on mud while the dog bounded ahead like it was a lark. Back at the farmhouse, dripping and defeated, we piled into the sitting room. Someone stoked the woodburner, and we sprawled out, tea in hand, plotting tomorrow over a map smeared with wet fingerprints. It was one of those moments that makes you reflect – me, sat there shivering a bit, thinking how I’d spent too long cooped up in the city, chasing deadlines instead of clouds. Proper perspective.

Next morning, the sun cheekily peeked out again, so we tried a circular route through the pastures – tougher going with the boggy bits from the rain, but rewarding with panoramic sweeps over the Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. The weather kept us on our toes: one minute basking in unexpected warmth, the next dodging showers that turned paths to streams. Evening ritual was sacrosanct – hot tub under the stars (post-rain sky was crystal clear), then into the kitchen/diner. Our self-appointed chef worked wonders on the range cooker and marble island, rustling up stews while we debriefed the day’s soggy triumphs.

Those walks, weather-whipped or not, were the heart of it. They forced us to adapt, laugh off the downpours, and appreciate the wild beauty right on the doorstep. If you’re after a rural reset, this is the spot – just pack your wellies.